


Stay With Me

by Colorfullyminded



Series: Pinescone Month [2]
Category: Gravity Falls, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon & Comics)
Genre: A need to validate each other, Angst, Because of the codependent nature, Codependency, Complicated Relationships, Even if he is not romantically attracted to Dipper, Even if it means ignoring your own feelings and needs, I'm Sorry, M/M, One Sided Love, Unhealthy Relationships, You've been warned, and Wirt's need to placate Dipper through affection, no happy ending, pure angst, slight dubcon, you're gonna have a bad time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 05:31:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20861045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colorfullyminded/pseuds/Colorfullyminded
Summary: Guess it’s true I’m not good at a one night stand,But I still need love, cause I’m just a man.These nights never seem to go to plan,I don’t want you to leave, will you hold my hand?Won’t you stay with me?Cause you’re all I need.This ain’t love, It’s clear to see,But darling, Stay with me.





	Stay With Me

**Author's Note:**

> 2nd Prompt: "Please Don't Leave"

He’s gorgeous.

That’s the first thought that crosses your mind, when he reaches out his hand to shake yours.

He’s got a crooked, shy smile. A long, elegant face with pronounced cheekbones. Warm gray eyes, and soft, deep brown hair, slightly mussed. He’s also tall, really tall, which is just your type. 

“Nice to meet you. My name is Wirt. Welcome to marching band.”

His grip is soft, but his handshake is firm. Despite his mousy appearance, there’s a bit of confidence swimming in his eyes. He’s in his comfort zone, and he wants you to feel just as welcomed.

You try to keep your facial features in check, try to keep your cheeks from catching fire. You’re failing miserably.

“I’m M-mason. Or um--Shit! Dipper! That’s the name I usually go by! Dipper Pines. But, it’s fine--if you wanna call me Mason. I don’t mind. That is my real name--_ Dipper’s a nickname _ . I mean, of course it’s a nickname, who calls their child Dipper-- _ well, maybe if my parents were hippies, or free spirits, or they just like unique names, but my parents didn’t do that. _ Oh! Oh no! I’m still talking--wow! Holy shit! I’m sorry-- I don’t usually talk this much. Why am I talking so much? Probably because I’m new and excited to join the band! If you couldn’t tell, it’s my first year of college-- _ Of course you can tell, I’m acting like a total freshie! _Haha, and I’m still going...Oh god, I-- I need to stop...rambling…”

Wirt’s smile grows wider, his eyes sparkling, “I don’t mind you rambling. It’s cute. It’s nice to meet you, Mason. Let’s get along.”

_ Oh no. _

_ Oh no! _

“Oh...okay…” 

\---

He takes you under his wing. 

He introduces you to the other bandmates who are just as warm, and welcoming. You’re definitely glad you chose this school, of all places, even if it means being separated from your best friend, and twin sister. But she’s got her dreams to follow, and you’ve got yours.

He shows you the new set list, and tells you about all the games you’ll be performing at. Since he’s a sophomore, and this isn’t his first rodeo, he’s adept at showing you the ropes. Plus, he was the first to volunteer. You’re certainly not complaining. When you tell him, a bit bashful, that you play the sousaphone, he doesn’t make fun of you.

His eyes get wide, and he says, rather impressed, “That’s a heavy instrument. You don’t have trouble carrying it?”

You flex your bicep; his eyes grow wider. “I’m pretty in shape. It gets difficult to carry it for long periods, but it’s a good workout, so it’s not a bad compensation. Sore muscles, for swole muscles.”

Wirt reaches out, and curls his long fingers over your bicep. You try not to jump, but his skin is cold, and you’re burning up. “Amazing! Forgive me, you’re so small looking--_ I suppose everyone looks small to me when I’m so freakishly tall _. ...Oh! I hope that doesn’t offend you, I know some people have anxiety about their height--I think you’re a rather fine height; I’d rather be your height, honestly. Oh--now I’m the one rambling! Excuse me. I was just going to say, even though you’re small, you’ve got a great body.”

You usually would get snippy about your height--_ it is a touchy subject for you_. But his nervous babbling, and his touch make if hard for you to even think about getting annoyed. All you can think is that you don’t want him to stop touching you. Or complimenting you.

_ He says you have a great body. He told you that you have a great body. _

Realizing he’s still touching you, he pulls his hand away, running that hand over his cheek in embarrassment. “Forgive me, that must have been awkward. I just thought, you’re really handsome, Mason. I’m rather jealous.”

You swallow, wondering if he’s doing this on purpose, “T-thank you. I’m not used to people saying I’m handsome.”

He frowns, looking genuinely sad about the fact. “That’s a shame. You should have more people telling you such.”

You bite your tongue, not wanting to blurt out something you'll regret. Like, _“I wouldn't mind it if you called me that more._”

Instead, you say, “Thanks Wirt. That’s really nice. You’re quite the looker yourself, you know?”

He doesn’t seem convinced, “Now you’re just being nice.”

_ Forget being subtle! _You blurt out your true feelings--well, as close as you can get it, without being overly confessional. “No! Really! You really pull off the dapper look. You’ve got a sort of old school charm about you that makes you really attractive.”

He blushes at your praise, and you chalk it up as a small victory. “Thank you, Mason. You’re sweet. Gosh, we’ve gotten off topic, haven’t we? I’m supposed to be getting you used to band practice, and instead I’m admiring your physique.”

You laugh, trying to play it off, “I mean, my physique helps me to play my instrument, so have we really gotten off topic? And I don’t mind having my ego stroked every once in awhile. It’s nice to be told you look good. Means I’ll look good in the uniform, right?”

His eyes are shining, and his cheeks are still pink, “Yes, I suppose that’s a good way to look at it. And I agree...being told you look good is not a terrible feeling at all.”

He looks at you, and as you look at him, you feel like you’ve gotten closer.

\---

He initially takes you under his wing. But now he’s become your friend.

You talk all the time now, about more than just band practice. It feels nice to have someone to talk to on a regular. You miss having a repertoire with someone. With Mabel, you guys have to find a schedule to facetime, your classes opposing, and between homework and club work, you both find yourselves often too exhausted to chat on the regular.

But it’s okay, because now you have someone to talk to daily; no more questions from your sister about whether you’re lonely. No more making excuses, no more changing the subject, no more fighting off her incessant fretting and teasing.

You’re not feeling very lonely anymore.

“You’re a twin?” Wirt asks, as you share lunch together on the bleachers of the empty football field.

“Yeah. My twin sister Mabel. She’s gone to a fine arts school in New York for fashion design.”

“Wow, that’s amazing! And what about you? Are you also in the fine arts program here?”

You laugh, “No way. I’m not creative like her. To be honest, my field is a little...well, some people might see it as a waste of a college degree.”

He turns his head, even more curious, “Oh? I would ask if it’s a bachelor’s in theater arts or music, but you said you weren’t in the fine arts program. But now I’m trying to figure out what it might be.”

“Well--okay, so you have to promise not to laugh. Alright? I’m serious, cause it might sound stupid, but like, I really know what I’m talking about--and I know that doesn’t make much sense, and you’re going to think I’m crazy as soon as I say it, but--”

  
  
“Mason, you’re rambling again.” Wirt chuckles. He gingerly places his hand on your knee to get you to focus. It has the opposite effect, but you can’t let him know that.

“O--ookay. So um. I came to this college because it’s the only school that has a program on Parapsychology. So that’s what I’m doing. Two majors, one minor. Majors in Parapsychology--the study of paranormal occurrences, and Mythology. The minor is for Archaeology.”

Wirt doesn’t say anything. For a moment he just sits, blinking owlishly at you.

You bite your lip, trying to hide the disappointment. _ What did you expect? _“Go ahead, say what I know you’re thinking. I’m sure you have a lot of questions, and probably are in disbelief that I’m studying things like ghosts and unexplainable anomalies.”

When he does finally speak, it isn’t what you expect him to say at all. “I’m just amazed that you’re juggling three degrees at once. That must be exhausting. And you still find time to be in band? You’re amazing!”

Your heart bangs against your ribs, ringing loudly in your ears. You’re sure anymore out of him, and it’s going to leap right out of your chest. _ Can he hear it? It’s so loud to you. _

“You don’t think it’s weird that I’m studying a psuedo-science?”

“Just like you, I’m planning to major in something that not many people have a lot of faith in: English, specifically poetry. Minor in Journalism, if the first thing doesn’t pan out. So, I’m not one to judge your choices. I believe that you have a reason, and you’re passionate about it, so that’s all that matters.

You stare in astonishment, unable to believe that someone besides your family, and the few close friends you made in Gravity Falls, accepts, and understands your choice in profession. If you tell anyone else, they give you this awkward sneer, and laugh, thinking it’s a joke--until they realize you’re serious, and then they just kind of dismiss you altogether.

Wirt doesn’t do that. Even if he doesn’t get it, he respects your decision. He doesn’t even question it. He just accepts it, and even reassures you that if it’s important to you, it’s significant. You already know it’s noteworthy, you don’t need reaffirmation that it is, but somehow, the assurance from someone you’re growing to really like, means everything to you.

_ I want to kiss him. I really want to kiss him right now, _ the thought briefly flits through your mind, before you quickly squash it.

“Plus,” he adds, as you’re packing up, getting ready to head to your next class. “Believe it or not, when I was younger, something really weird happened to me. I would say it was some kind of spiritual journey, but, hmmmm, I don’t know. It felt very real. There’s things that I can’t really explain, or at least, they’re things that other people have a hard time believing actually happened. Only my brother believes it, because it happened to him too. It couldn’t have been a dream if we both recounted it. So I guess, that might have been a paranormal encounter? What I’m trying to say it, I believe in the unknown, in the weird, and unexplainable. So, I believe in you.”

\--- 

“Oh my gosh! You’re in love!” Mabel’s voice is crackly through the bad internet connection.

You shush her, even though you’re living alone. You still have this fear that someone can hear you, and especially her, since she’s not a soft spoken girl.

“We just became friends. Love is a little too extreme, don’t you think?” you say, trying to refute her claims. _ There’s no way you can be in love. _

Mabel tsks, wagging her finger at the screen; the image lags a bit. “Dip n Dots. You can’t fool me. The way you talk about him, the way you get when you start thinking about him. It’s clear you’re gaga for this boy. Is he tall? Is that why you like him?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“He’s totally tall. You really like them towering over you. Is he strong like Wendy? Is he rocking the lumberjack vibe?”

You roll your eyes, “I’m going to hang up now.”

“Ohhh, changing the subject, so he must be the opposite. The scholarly type? The geek chic type? The romantic?”

“Goodbye sister. Let’s never talk about my love life again.”

  
  
“So you admit it’s Lo--”

You end the call, closing your laptop with a sigh. You lean back in your chair, closing your eyes. 

_ Love, huh? _

\---  
  
“Have you ever been in love?” You prod one day, as you’re walking through the college town, after band rehearsal.

Wirt stumbles over his own feet, but keeps himself upright. “Huh? Where did that come from?” he asks, cheeks blazing.

_ It’s such a cute look _ . You can’t look away, “My sister was bugging me earlier about my crush and--” _ Shit! You’ve said too much. _

“You have a crush?” He turns, his smile giddy and inquisitive. 

You look down at your feet, cursing yourself for letting it slip. “Um, well, I don’t know. It’s just there’s this guy--”

  
  
“You’re gay?” His mouth drops open in shock.

_ You’re really digging your grave now _. “Um, b-bi actually. I like...both.”

“Wow! I didn’t expect that. But that’s great, that’s cool. I’m pansexual myself.”

Your heart lurches, and now you’re the one tripping on the sidewalk. He reaches out, and grabs your arm, steadying you before you hit the pavement. “So-sorry about that. And um, thanks.”

“No problem.”

_ There’s a chance. There’s a chance that he could like you. _

“So...this crush? Do I know them? Or are they in one of your other classes?” He looks right at you.

You look away, not wanting him to see the truth in your eyes. If he looks too closely, he might see how much you admire him. “I don’t know how big the crush is. Really. He’s just nice. I like spending time with him. But I hardly know him. So I don’t want to overthink things...you know?”

He nods, “I get it. I know that feeling of not wanting to overthink your feelings. You should let it work out naturally, see where it goes. Just give it time, and see how you feel after you’ve had more time to be around him.”

You nod, “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

“I bet he’ll be so lucky to know Mason Pines has a crush on him.”

You swallow, “You think so?”

The poet shrugs, throwing you a reassuring smile, “I don’t see why not. You’re a catch! And if he doesn’t return your feelings, well, you got your pal Wirt who will lend you a shoulder to cry on!”

He throws an arm over your shoulder, and pulls you close, giving you a quick squeeze. He doesn’t let go afterwards; the two of you falling into a silent rhythm. Your heart pounds in time to your steps.

You don’t want to overthink things. But that’s really hard to do when he says stuff like that. When he does things like this.

You don’t want to overthink--but you’re positive that it’s not a simple crush anymore.

You’re so caught up in your own thoughts, that you forget that he never answered your question.

\---

You go from friends, to best friends.

He sometimes come over to your apartment, to help you study for a late night quiz. Or he’ll read over his essay, and you’ll make comments and constructive critiques on things you notice. 

You eat lunch with him almost every day, since it’s the only time besides band that you have free time together. 

He tells you all about his family; his little brother, his step dad, his mom, and his dad.

You tell him about your sister, and your parents, and your great uncles, and the friends back at your second home; the adventures you had in Gravity Falls.

On weekends, or nights when you’re not swamped with homework, you’ll go through the college town, and look at the stores, or eat out, or go to see a movie. 

You’ll text each other periodically (although his responses are slower than yours, considering his dinosaur of a phone), just talking about nothing in particular.

You’ll have long conversations in person about nothing. About everything. About everything and nothing.

It’s always everything to you.

As the days turn to weeks, and then months, as you get closer and closer, Mabel’s words come back to haunt you.

_ You’re in love! You’re in love! You’re in love… _

“Oh god, I’m in love with him…”

\---

It’s when you kiss him that everything falls apart.

It’s Thanksgiving break.

Jason Funderberker, another of your bandmates, throws a party at his house.

You go, dragging a reluctant Wirt along. There’s something about Jason Funderberker that always puts Wirt in a sour mood, though you’re not sure why, since the guy is really nice. A little gawky, but a good dude all around.

Wirt says he’s intimidating. You find that very hard to believe.

But you get him to go to the party. And for awhile, it’s actually fun. A lot of people are there, and you talk with everyone you know, and even some you don’t. Everyone’s really nice. It’s good company. You swipe some drinks you’re technically not supposed to have, but it loosens you up, and makes you feel more comfortable as the crowd rolls in.

Wirt’s also a few drinks in, his cheeks red from the alcohol. He’s managed to loosen up since your guy’s arrival, even managing to have a rather hospitable conversation with the host, not a trace of sarcasm to be found in his voice. As the night goes on, and people start dancing around the living room, you see Wirt swaying in the corner, nodding in time with the music.

You, who now has more alcohol in your system than can be classified as a buzz, stumble over towards him. You grab his arms, and tug him towards the dance floor. He shakes his head, mouthing no, but you give him a pout and a “please?” and he rolls his eyes, relenting. He follows you into the mesh of bodies, and the two are you begin to dance. You don’t really know how you look, but the important thing is--you don’t care, the alcohol giving you that liquid courage that you otherwise lack.

Wirt gives a little more effort than just a sway of his hips, and because he’s aware of his limits-- unlike you’re drunk ass-- he actually keeps a tempo, and looks good.

_ God, he looks so fucking good! _

You take a step in, and someone behind you slams into your back, knocking you forward. You throw your arms out, as Wirt lunges to grab you. He catches your waist, as you wrap your arms around his neck.

Your noses bump together, and he laughs, nervously, his breath a mix of spiked punch and mint gum. “Gosh, that was close. Are you okay Mason?”

_He’s so close. He’s too close._ _And he’s so god damn breathtaking!_ His gray eyes are slightly glassy from the booze, filled with concern, and mild amusement. His long nose presses sharply against your own, freckled button nose. And his pink lips--he unconsciously swipes his tongue over them, wetting them, and you watch mesmerized. Your pupils dilate as the liquid courage swirls; as it churns from liquid to solid lust.

Before you can stop yourself, you lean forward, capturing his lips with your own. 

He makes a muffled noise, and goes still. When he doesn’t immediately push you away, you sink into the kiss, enjoying the taste of him on your mouth. For a second, it’s absolute, pure bliss. He tastes sweet, and salty, and minty, and just absolutely everything you could have hoped for. You brush your tongue against his bottom lip, and slowly, he opens his mouth, letting you slip your tongue in.

The music pounds, bodies swaying in a drunken haze, pushing you two closer. Your skull thrums, your tongues dancing with the beat. At least, it feels that way. You make out for what feels like forever, savoring the taste on your tongue now. It’s even better when he’s reciprocating it, when he’s kissing you just as hungrily as you are him. Your fingers curl in the hair on the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. His fingers flex against your waist, neither tight, nor loose, just kind of there.

Finally, you pull away. You don’t want to, you have to. It’s getting hard to breath. 

Your eyes flutter open. There’s a string of spit still connected by your lips. You lift your head, and the connection breaks. You’re smiling up at him, wondering if he feels as charged as you do right now? If he’s floating on air? 

The look on his face slams you back to reality.

He’s smiling, but it’s not at all a pleasant one. 

It’s uncomfortable, and awkward; lips curled slightly up to show his teeth are clamped, and eyes scrunched in a half wince.

It’s the kind of expression you give someone when you watch them fuck up. 

He pulls his hands away from your waist. He looks towards the kitchen entryway, the expression stuck in place.

When he turns back, the smile in different; but still a variation of awful. His lips close, his eyebrows drawn low. Now it’s this hopeless, somewhat rueful smile. 

He lifts his hand, and pats the top of your head. Like you’re a little kid.

“Let’s get you some water. I think you’ve had too much to drink.” He turns, and in three long strides, he’s swallowed up in the crowd of party goers.

You’re left in the middle of the dance floor, alone. Bodies sway against you, rocking you like waves on the water, the music still blaring. Your stomach churns, and churns, and churns.

You lean on your knees, trying to keep the nausea down. 

\---

Sara offers to take the two of you home, being the designated driver. Wirt agrees; even though he’s not nearly as drunk as you, he still errs on the side of caution, uncertain that he could pass a DUI test.

You shake your head, “I think I want to stay a little longer.”

Sara frowns, “Are you sure? It’s already really late? And I don’t know if there’s going to be many designated drivers left.”

You nod, “I’ll just walk home if I need to. It’s no big deal.”

“Do you know how to get home from here?” Sara asks.

You don’t. But you don’t want to tell them that. You don’t want to have to explain why you’re so reluctant to go; not when the only person who knows is right there. “I’ve got it. Seriously, I’ll be fine.”

Hearing that, Wirt chimes in, clearly not okay with that. “It’s too dangerous to walk alone. You’re really drunk right now, and I’d feel better if you came with us.”

The whole awkward moment from earlier has sobered you up enough that his current concern stings. It’s like watching someone flip the light switch on and off in rapid succession. It’s giving you whiplash. 

Jason Funderberker comes to your rescue. “You can stay the night, if you want Dipper? I can take you home tomorrow morning. Or if you really gotta go, I can end the party early, and take you home whenever.” You don’t detect a trace of alcohol on his breath; he’s one of the few people you know who doesn’t drink, despite supplying the alcohol for the party. 

“Thanks Jason! You’re a lifesaver! I’m totally fine with crashing, if you’re cool with it.” You intentionally snuggle up to the host, side eyeing Wirt, wondering what expression he has on his face. Is he angry? Is he jealous? You know it’s kind of fucked up, but you’re still reeling from Wirt’s earlier reaction, and you want to think maybe there really is something between the kiss you shared. _ Why else would he kiss you back? _

Wirt looks at the two of you, lips pursed. It’s hard to tell what’s going through his head right now. Then he smiles, and lets out a sigh of relief. You try to hide your disappointment. He says to Jason, “Make sure he drinks more water before he goes to sleep. I don’t want him having a hangover.”

Jason salutes his friend, “Can do, Wirty bud.”

“...Don’t call me that,” Wirt admonishes.

Jason drops his hand, laughing awkwardly, “Got it.”

Wirt turns to you. “Mason, get some rest, okay? If you want to dance some more, that’s fine, but switch to water from now on. I can come pick you up tomorrow if you’d rather have me come and get you?”

Your heart slams against your ribcage. You want to scream at him, demanding what his deal is.

One minute he’s sweet and seemly interested, and the next he’s distant and cool towards you? And now he’s acting like nothing’s wrong--everything’s the same as when you arrived.

You want to scream at him, but his kind nature makes you weak. Even though you’re upset, and confused, you’re also still so desperately attracted to him; you’re drunk and emotional, which makes it hard to distinguish head from heart.

And the fact that he wants to pick you up? You melt, even though you’re supposed to be pissed. 

“Yeah...will you come get me tomorrow?” You despise how soft your voice comes across.

Wirt smiles, and nods, “Yeah, I’ll pick you up.” He pats your head again, and on one hand, you want to smack it away, to tell him to take your feelings seriously. On the other hand, you want his touch--anyway you can get it. It’s something, some contact since the kiss, and you’ll take it.

_ Head vs Heart. _

Sara and Wirt depart, and you stand outside in the cold November air. Hugging yourself against the chill.

“You okay?” Jason asks, his voice low. 

You look at him. “I don’t know,” you admit. 

“Did something happen?” 

You close your eyes, shivering. “I thought something did. But I don’t know. I guess it was just me who wanted it to happen. ...Ugh...my head hurts.”

He puts his hand on the small of your back, “Do you want to lie down?”

You nod.

He leads you back inside. “I’m sorry. It’s gonna be okay.”

_ Jason Funderberker is a really good guy. _

\---

You wake up the next morning, groggy, and sweaty; head pounding. You wake up to someone brushing back your bangs.

Your eyes flutter open. “Wirt…?”

A nasally voice answers back, chuckling hardheartedly, “Sorry Dipper, just me. Wirt’s downstairs though, waiting for you. He sent me up here with Tylenol and water, after barking at me for not having it prepared for you earlier. He’s back to his usual self I guess, hehe.”

You sit up, rubbing the crud out of your eyes. You're in Jason Funderberker’s guest room, the man currently sitting at the edge of the bad, holding a glass of water in one hand, and two Tylenol tablets in the other. You take both, muttering a groggy thank you, and pop back the pills, chugging the whole glass. As you wait for the effects to kick in, you look at Jason, who’s still in his PJs, twiddling his thumbs, looking like he wants to ask you something.

After a couple seconds, he finally does. “So, um...did something happen with Wirt last night?”

You stare into the bottom of your glass. “Why do you ask?”

“Cause you said his name when you woke up, and you looked kind of downtrodden when you realized it was just me. Which is fine. I take no offense.”

You hand the glass back to him. “Again, I don’t really know what happened. I kissed him--”

  
  
Jason’s eyes grow to the size of saucers.

“--and at first, he was kissing me back. I thought it was mutual. But after the kiss, he looked at me like it was some kind of mistake. And then he kept trying to make me drink water, and he wasn’t really acknowledging what happened between us.”

“Maybe he got scared, cause he realized you were more drunk then he was. Maybe he was trying to distance himself, so he didn’t take advantage of you.”

Jason’s answers lift your spirits somewhat. _ You didn’t think of it that way. _ “You really think so?”

Jason stays on the positive side, much like your sister would. “You know Wirt. He’s very sensitive to other people’s feelings. He probably didn’t want to hurt you, especially if you woke up, and couldn’t remember anything. That would be really bad, and Wirt would hate himself for it. He was probably thinking of your feelings.”

You relax at his explanation, the weight of last night falling from your shoulders. “Oh god, you’re probably right. It was probably as simple as that. Thanks, Jason. That makes me feel so much better.”

He pats your shoulder. It doesn’t instill the same sensation that Wirt’s touch gives you, but his hand is comforting in its own way. “No problem. I’m always happy to help. And hey--I um...I hope it works out with you and--”

  
  
“Jason, what’s taking so long?” Wirt storms in at that moment, arms crossed. He glowers at Jason, but his expression softens when he sees you. “Hiya, Mason. Feeling alright?”

You nod. “A little hungover, but I got the Tylenol and water, so I’ll be alright.”

Wirt turns his sour expression back on Jason. “He was supposed to bring it to you _ before _ you went to bed.”

Jason bows his head. “S-sorry Wirt.”

You try and break up the tension, now coming to Jason’s aid. It was only right that you returned the favor. “It’s fine, really. He helped me to bed last night, and made sure I was comfortable, and that no one would bother me.”

Wirt’s eyes widen, and he whips around on Jason, “What does he mean, helped you to bed? Jason did you--”

  
  
“WHAT? OH GOSH NO!!! I WOULD NEVER--”

“AHH! NO, NONO, I DIDN’T MEAN IT LIKE THAT!!! I WAS JUST SAYING--”

Wirt calms down, though he’s still looking at Jason with daggers. “Oh, good. Good. I don’t know what I might have done if I found out you took advantage of him while he was drunk.”

“Sometimes I think you have a very low impression of me, Wirt.” Jason pouts.

You roll your eyes, getting a little irritated with all this coddling. Although, a part of you hopes it’s jealousy making him say all this. “Wirt, I wasn’t that wasted. You don’t need to fret over me; I’m aware of what I did last night.”

  
  
You bite your tongue, but it’s too late to take it back. Wirt makes an ‘ah’ noise, and that awkward expression briefly crosses his face. It’s gone in an instant, and he says, “Well, okay. But still. You were drunk, and he was sober, and if you two were sleeping together--”

  
  
“--Do you really think I’d be sleeping with Jason? Really? After last night?” You say, before you can stop yourself. You’re moving in autopilot.

The expression returns, and doesn’t disappear, quite as quickly. “I guess not. Hmmm, right--okay! Okay then! Well, good. Good, good good…”

Now the three of you are sitting in murky, uncomfortable silence.

“Jason, thank you for letting Mason crash here, and being a decent guy. I’m sorry if I implied that you might have done something. Mason, I’m glad you’re feeling better. Should we start heading out?” Wirt says, changing the subject in hopes the tension will dissipate.

_ It’s really not working. _

You nod, dejectedly, “Yeah...sure. Let’s go.”

Your stomach makes itself present at that moment, with a loud grumble.

Wirt’s expression turns puckish, “Would you like to stop and get breakfast?” 

You look at him. At his soft features. At his tiny smile. At his warm eyes. It’s the Wirt that drives you crazy--in a good way. Once more, you find yourself unable to resist. “Yeah, I’m starving. Breakfast sounds nice.”

With the tension slowly leaving, Jason tries to interpose, “Oh breakfast sounds good! Can I co--”

“NO!” Wirt snaps.

The awkward silence returns, ten fold.

Wirt, realizing that his reaction was a little extreme, rubs the back of his neck, cheeks flaring up. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap. I just, um, I need to talk to Mason, privately--”

You and Jason’s eyes widen, and you share a quick glance with each other, thinking the same exact thing.

Jason’s expression turns to one of complacency, “Oh yeah! Yeah! That’s totally fine! You guys go and enjoy yourself.” His smile is way too obvious.

Yours isn’t any better, especially when you throw the covers off, and leap out of the bed. “Right. Jason, thanks so much for letting me stay over. You’ve been a great host. The party was awesome! But I’m gonna head off now.”

Jason nods, practically shooing you out the door. He gives you a not so subtle wink, “Yeah! Yeah, totally! Go on. Don’t let me keep you guys.”

You head for the door, taking long strides on your short legs. You say, as you pass Wirt by, “Come on. Let’s get going! It’s gonna be brunch soon, which means lots of places are gonna get packed!”

Wirt looks between the two of you in utter confusion, not sure what happened in the span of seconds in which he mentioned wanting to talk with Dipper privately. He looks at Jason. Jason smiles, and shrugs, like he doesn’t know, even when he clearly does.

\---

You stare into the dark brown of your coffee, watching the steam rise and swirl in front of you. Your earlier enthusiasm is dripping off your face, as you sweat out the last of the night before.

“I like you Mason. I really do. But um, I’m not um-- a-attracted to you. I’m...I’m sorry”

You take a sip of your coffee. It’s a fresh pot; it burns your tongue and lips immediately. You hardly flinch.

You put the cup back on the table. You flick your gaze up at him. He’s shuffling awkwardly in the booth across from you, unable to get situated. 

“Why did you kiss me back?” 

His eyes jump to yours, face twisting in regret. He looks away, still squirming.

“I thought it’d be bad if I pushed you away. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

You take another sip of your too hot coffee. Your eyes blur with tears. It’s hard to tell if it’s the physical pain you’re feeling...or the emotional.

“You think this is better?”

He bows his head, shoulders hunching, “No. I um, I realize that I made a pretty big mistake. Kissing you was a mistake.”

You take another sip. The coffee burns it’s way down your throat.

“I really like you Wirt. I really thought...I thought that maybe you picked up on it…”

“In hindsight, it makes sense. I’m just really bad at reading the signs. I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to lead you on.”

You drum your fingers against your cup. It’s not only your mouth that’s burning. The heat from the cup is going to give you blisters.

“I still really want to be friends, Mason. You’re such a great guy, I don’t want to lose our friendship over something so silly!” 

You chug the rest of your cup, slamming it back onto the table, drawing the attention of the people next to you.

“Oh no...I’ve upset you.”

“No...it’s fine. I’m fine,” You lie, wiping at your eyes before the tears start.

“It’s not fine. It’s very much not fine. You’re about to cry.”

“Pointing it out only makes it worse,” You mutter, unable to stop when the first tear rolls. Followed by another. And another. And now you can’t stop.

_ Fuck! Shit! _

Wirt snatches up his napkin, and leans forward, gently grabbing your chin. You have no time to protest; he lifts your chin, and starts tenderly dabbing your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m so sorry. Oh gosh! Shit! I’m really really sorry. Please don’t cry.” He rambles, eyes wide in panic. He looks genuinely upset at himself for upsetting you.

Your mouth falls open in stunned silence, trying to process what’s happening.

Wirt, realizing you’re not stopping, gets out of his booth, and squeezes into yours. With hardly any space between you two, he starts wiping your face again, at first with the napkin. But when it becomes blotted with tears, he drops it on the table, and uses his sleeves instead. The fabric is so soft, and smells like laundry detergent. 

His voice is soothing, as he profusely apologizes, “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m a terrible friend. I’m a really shitty person. I’m sorry. It’s okay. Please stop. Please, please don’t cry anymore. I’m really not worth your tears.”

You almost feel bad for him. You know it’s not his fault, the way he feels, anymore than it’s your fault for the way you feel. It’s just, it’s really hard to stop crying once you start.

He knows that as well, but seeing how upset you are, he keeps trying to find a solution. “What can I do? What can I do to help? There has to be something I can do to make this better!” he begs.

It slips out, in a half whisper, “Kiss me again.”

You’re hoping he doesn’t hear it.

His widening eyes, and the uncertain grimace tells you he did, “Mason...I told you---I can’t--I don’t like you like---”

You really don’t mean to do it. You really don’t. It’s out of your control. It’s an impulse.

You vision blurs with tears, and this horrible, squeaky sob, forces itself from the back of your throat before you can reel it back.

And then you feel his soft, slightly chapped lips on yours again. His hand cradles your cheeks, thumbs brushing away the tears. The rest of his fingers curl in the hair near your temples. He pulls you closer, angling his head so he can deepen the kiss. He’s kissing you with all the energy of someone who loves you. He’s kissing you like he really wants to be kissing you.

You stay like that for only a moment, but it feels like time has slowed, like it’s dragging, just for you.

He pulls away, your lips making a smacking noise as you part.

“...You’ve stopped,” Wirt comments.

And without realizing, you have. 

He wipes your tear stained cheeks, smiling. “I’m so glad. Mason, I’m so sorry that I upset you. I really didn’t mean to make you cry. I hope you can forgive me.”

He pecks your lips once more, then rests his forehead against yours. His eyes are closed; you stare at his long lashes, at his furrowed brow.

Your heart’s slamming inside your chest. Your cheeks are burning, matching the burn in your mouth. “Why did you? You didn’t have to--”

He opens his eyes, his expression lamenting. “You deserved an apology. After what I’ve done, I owed it to you. It’s no big deal.”

Now you’re the one over analyzing his words. “But you said... And-and if I’ve made you feel so guilty, that you thought you had too... then I’m sorry! I’m sorry Wirt! I-I didn’t mean to-- I didn’t want you to--”

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his arms, practically on his lap. “Shuuu, it’s fine. It’s the least I could do.” He rubs your shoulder blades, trying to keep you calm. He really doesn’t want to upset you again.

You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what’s the best way to respond. Wirt’s not letting you apologize. Unable to do anything else, you reach up, clinging to the back of his sweater. You bury your face in his chest, inhaling his clean scent. He feels so warm; it’s such a great feeling, but you know you can’t enjoy it. Because it’s not genuine. You feel so gross in comparison. “You really didn’t have to. I really didn’t mean for you to--” you mumble against his sweater.

  
  
“Shuuu, it’s fine. It’s really fine Mason. It’s okay. We’re okay, okay?”

You lift your head, doubtful. To test your theory, you lean up, your lips centimeters from his own. He flinches back, momentarily, his expression one of conflict, before he leans back down, and kisses you again. It’s much more hesitant.

_ It’s clearly not okay. _

You break the kiss. “Can you take me home?” 

“Mason, it’s--”

Your voice cracks, stopping him before he can continue, “Please, take me home Wirt. I just wanna go home.”

He looks hurt. Reluctantly, he yields, “Okay. Meet me at the car; I’ll pay.”

He seems nervous to pull away. When he finally does, he tucks a lock of your hair back behind your ear before removing you from his lap, and standing. He looks at the front counter, and then at you, like he doesn’t know what to do. With one last look at you, he heads for the counter to pay for your drinks. You stand, legs shaky, and stumble out of the restaurant, feelings everyone’s pitying eyes follow you out.

You guys didn’t even get to order your food.

You speed walk inside, trying to appear every bit put together; as soon as you’re outside, you run to his car. You grab the handle, placing your other hand on his windowsill, using them to support yourself. Your legs buckle, but leaning on his car keeps you standing, even if a little folded over. 

When Wirt finally comes out, you’re standing straight, watching him walk towards the car, expression impassive. The handprint on the outside of his window has been wiped away. He passes you a to-go coffee cup. “I thought you’d like a refill.”

You take it, trying not to let your fingers touch. His fingers are so long, there’s no way to grab the cup without looking obvious that you’re trying not to touch him. Biting the inside of your cheek, you take the cup from him, normally, his fingers warm from the coffee. Your body sparks at the touch, your freezing fingers twitching, and you wish they didn’t. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

In the car, you down your cup of coffee, trying to burn the taste of his kiss off your lips.

_ It’s just better that way. _

\---

When school starts again, it’s awkward, going into practice. You haven’t talked to Wirt since the incident at the diner. He went off to spend the holidays with his family, while you made up some excuse about food poisoning in order not to talk to anyone. One look at your face, and the interrogation from Mabel would be unending. You’re sure she’s still suspicious, and it won’t be long before she calls, but you’ve managed to stave it off for now.

You can’t stop the break from ending though. While you think about skipping the first day back, you think that’s unwise, considering how many subjects you’re taking. And you know if you don’t show up, Wirt will freak out, and start spamming you with texts, or worse, coming to your apartment. You don’t think you could handle him showing up at your front door. So you swallow your reluctance, and brave the first day back.

You don’t know how band’s going to go. When you walk in, you wave to Sara and Jason, who are sitting near each other, chatting.

When they spot you, they wave back, but judging by their awkward smiles, Wirt’s already informed them about what’s happened.

You feel a presence looming over you. “Hey Mason. I have the new setlist for the upcoming game.”

You jump a foot in the air. Taking a step back, you turn, and there he is. He’s holding a stack of papers. He’s smiling normally, oozing the confidence he always has during band. But behind his eyes, you can see glimpses of fear, of trepidation.

“Oh, um cool. Thanks.” You take one of the papers, and go to your seat, not wanting to stick around and try and form a semblance of a conversation. You busy yourself with the setlist, reading and rereading the words. Then, just to be certain, you reread it a third time. 

He doesn’t get the hint. The looming presence returns. “Hey, you weren’t at lunch today. Are you okay? You’re weren’t sick, were you? Or maybe you had to work on some assignment? I just, you didn’t text me, so I got worried. You’re okay, right?”

You lower the paper. You look at him, bemused. Your lip twitches between a smile, and a frown.

His smile falls away, eyes lowering. “Right, of course you’re not. I’m sorry. I really messed up last time. I was hoping we could talk about what happened at lunch. I was hoping to make it up to you.”

_The last time he made it up to you, he put your feelings through tumble dry._

He keeps going, “I have something for you. My brother and I made them. He wanted to do something artsy, and roped me into it. I don’t know, I wasn’t so keen on it at first, but then I thought maybe I could use this to apologize properly. Then I got all inspired. Um, anyway, here!” He reaches into his trouser pockets, and pulls out a leather necklace cord. He offers it to you.

You take it. Looking down, you see two clay figures attached to the cord. It’s two circular stones, with a picture drawn in the middle. The first is an eloquently drawn frog, playing piano. The other is a crudely figure sleeping under a pine tree. It reminds you of Gravity Falls, and you’re hit with homesickness.

You don’t know what to say. It’s touching. But it’s also bittersweet. Once more your hearts being flung through a noisy dryer, set on high. It’s hard to mask your feelings when he does something like this. When he shows you that sweet, adorkable side of his that made you like him from the beginning. When he reminds you of something so personal to you. When he makes it so hard to stop feeling the way you do about him. You clutch the necklace close to your chest, inhaling shakily.

_ Should you say thank you? _

_ Should you tell him you don’t want it? _

_ What do you do? What’s the right thing to do? _

You tell him, “You drew the pine tree, didn’t you?”

He laughs, visibly untensing, “How did you know? My brother did the frog.”

“You might be a poet, and a great musician, but I doubt you’re a triple threat with sculpting.”

“Yeah, no. Greg’s got the artist's touch. I’ll stick to words, and music, thanks.”

You put the necklace on. “Thanks. Tell you brother he’s good.”

“I will.” He starts to retreat, as the professor finally walks in.

“Oh, and Wirt?”

He looks back.

“...I’ll um...I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow? Yeah?”

The smile spreads across his face; they’re at ease again. 

At least...Wirt is.

\---

Late in the night and you’re still staring at the necklace, burning the image to memory.

You look at the pine tree, letting your fingers run over the marks in the clay. 

You clutch it to your heart, wondering if you made the right choice in the end.

Your heart tells you yes. Your heart tells you no.

You close your eyes.

_ You’re fucked either way. _

\---

You throw yourself into your school work. Into practice. At lunch, you play the role of the best friend; smiling, laughing, pretending everything’s fixed. Wirt notices the bags under your eyes, questioning them, but you tell him it’s cause of projects, and he believes it easily enough. What happened at the party, and then at the diner, doesn’t happen again. He sits next to you, but is conscious of the space between you two, making sure you two are never too close.

You want to be offended, but it’s rather considerate.

Your sister on the other hand, cuts right through the bullshit.

“Dipper, goddamnit. You always pick the worst ones to fall in love with. I mean, not that they’re shitty people, just that--well, it always seems to end with you in heartbreak.”

“I’m fine, Mabel. It’s fine. I’ll just have to accept it.”

“Yeah, okay. _ Sure _. You look awful, bro bro. Like you haven’t been sleeping...or eating...or showering!”

“I got stuff I need to focus on…”

“Yeah, like how much you don’t want to be in love with this boy who clearly doesn’t deserve you?”

“Mabel stop! Wirt’s really sweet.”

“Yeah, then why do you look like he kicked Waddles? Hmmm? When Wendy rejected you, it sucked, but you handled it after the first night. You’re clearly hung up over Wirt though, so there must be more to the story.”

“It’s complicated,” You groan, running a hand over your face.

“Well, you better start explaining! Uncomplicate it for me.”

“Mabel, I don’t want to do this today. I need to study…”

“You _NEED_ to shower! And _ SLEEP _ ! That’s what you _ NEED _ to do.”

She’s right. But sleep means dreams, and dreams mean the possibility of Wirt. And the possibility of Wirt means those dreams might turn into…

“I gotta go Mabel. I really can’t talk right now. Sorry I didn’t ask you about school, next time, I promise.”

“Dip---”

You end the call before she can finish. When the call starts coming in again, you hit ignore. She tries again. You turn off your computer.

Before she can blow up your phone, you turn that off too.

You throw yourself into your Archaeology homework.

\---

The day of the game comes. And you’re barely standing.

“Dipper, maybe you should sit this one out? I don’t think anyone will notice.” Jason fusses.

“I’m fine. I can do this,” you slur around your mouthpiece.

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” Jason protests. 

You don’t have time to argue, the beginning percussion starting up. Off you go, with the rest of the group.

The sousaphone feels like a 200 pound weight in your arms. It’s usually no trouble, but right now, with your lack of sleep, and proper diet, you’re straining to keep it up. It keeps slipping, causing you to fall out of time with the rest of your group. You try to pick up the pace, but that causes you to make a sound louder than necessary, drowning out other sections.

It feels like you’ve been walking for hours. You’re legs buckle with each step, and people are bumping you from behind, as you lose speed. You hear more than one grumble of disapproval from behind you. Your head swims as you keep playing. _ God, how long is this song? _ You hear an out of tune sousaphone in the background, disrupting the rest of the band. They’re making it hard to concentrate. _ Who the fuck is messing you all up? _

  
  
It takes you a moment to realize you’re the one who’s making the racket. You’re the one out of time. It’s your sousaphone. Now everyone in the band is staring at you, glaring at you. You hear laughter coming from the bleachers, cursing from your band mates.

“Jesus, Pines, get it together!” Someone shouts.

That’s when your legs give out. You crumble, like a stack of cards, your sousaphone dragging you violently to the floor. The last thing you hear is people gasping, and screaming your name, but only one of them stands out from the rest.

“Mason!”

\---

Cool fingers brush your sweat soaked bangs from your forehead, pulling you from sleep.

“Wha--? What happened?”

“Oh thank god, you’re finally awake!”

“...Wirt?” You blink your eyes, trying to focus.

The initially blurry shape above you morphs into that of your friend. His eyes are wide, face pale. But when you look at him, full of recognition, his heads droops, all his anxieties falling away on an exhale.

“You scared the crap out of me. Are you okay?”

You try to sit up, but your muscles cry out in protest, forcing you back onto the cot. 

“Don’t move too much. You were carrying your sousaphone, so you’re pretty bruised up. Just take it easy.”

Realizing that you’re in the school infirmary, everything snaps into place. “Fuck! I messed up the whole performance!” You slam your fist on the bed, hissing through your teeth.

Wirt tries to reassure you. “No, no, not at all! There’s always something going wrong at one of the shows. Really, it’s not that big of a deal. It’s your first year. It’s good practice. Don’t worry about it.” 

“I totally fucked up, and messed everyone else up. People probably think I’m an idiot. And now I’ve got you freaking out; ugh, I’m gonna get booted from band.”

“Hey! Hey! No! I won’t let that happen. The nurse said you had a fainting spell from lack of energy. That’s totally accidental. It’s not like you were drunk or stoned. No one’s going to fault you for overworking yourself. If anything, we’re going to try and make sure you don’t do it again.”

  
  
“Great, so now everyone has to babysit the newbie.”

Wirt chews his thumb nail, to the point of drawing blood. “No, Mason, that’s not what I meant. Ugh, I’m just making this worse, aren’t I?”

Seeing that it’s not just his thumb nail that’s been chewed at, you realize he’s been doing this for awhile, and try to alleviate some of the stress you’ve caused him. “No, you’re perfectly fine. I’m really just angry with myself. I knew I had a performance coming up, and I should have gotten rest the night before, instead of working on homework that isn’t even due yet.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed. You’ve been working super hard lately. You deserve a break. If you work too much, you’re going to overexert yourself, and end up getting hurt. Like you did tonight. Gosh, you really did scare me, you know?”

  
  
You look at him, and at the blood crusting under his nails, feeling guilty. He’s the reason you’ve been pushing yourself so hard, but it’s not his fault. He’s not doing this on purpose. It’s really just your feelings getting in the way; feelings you’re trying to suppress.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Wirt. I didn’t mean to scare you.” You scrub your face, hoping the action wakes you up a little more. “Gosh, this sucks! I feel like absolute shit, figuratively and literally.”

“I’m sorry about that. Is there anything I can do?”

You’re sure that he’s talking about your stress, your poor health habits. Like offering to help you study, or bringing you extra snacks, or texting you to go to bed. The way most friends might offer to help.

Right now though, right now you just want a hug. Your body hurts, you head is muggy with complicated emotions, and you just want someone to embrace you. Just for a moment. It feels so childish, so pathetic, but you’ve been acting pathetic, so you might as well go all in. 

If your sister were here, she’d hug you so tight, and rub your back, and tell you it’s going to be alright. She’d maybe chide you for being so reckless, but it be with all the love and support of a sister. 

She’s not here though, she’s in New York. But Wirt is here. _ Maybe...maybe it be okay to ask for a hug? Friends can hug, can’t they? _You stretch your arms out towards him, silently asking for permission.

“Oh…You want…? O-okay. Yeah...I...I can...” He bites his lip. He looks left and right, like he’s making sure you two are alone.

That’s odd, but before you can ask him what he’s doing, he’s leaning over the bed.

Except he’s not leaning down to hug you. His hands are splayed out on either side of your head.

You open your mouth, trying to correct the misunderstanding, but his lips silence yours. Your body jolts at the contact, electricity running up your spine. His tongue pushes its way into your mouth. The electricity crackles across your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

You grip the bed sheets, and squeeze your eyes shut. His chest is flush against yours. He puts one knee up on the bed to hold himself up. One hand moves, tipping your head back, and the kiss becomes sloppy.

You try to keep your hands to yourself. You know you’re not supposed to touch. But your body arches up into him when the kiss becomes more desperate, when he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, teeth sinking into the sensitive skin. 

You’re ashamed to realize you’re hard. You try to pull away, but there’s nowhere to go, and Wirt’s hand is keeping your head in place, your lips connected.

His tongue glides over your bottom lip, soothing the spot where he bit you. It’s all overwhelming; you can’t explain what’s happening, or why it’s happening. It’s just hard to resist now that it is happening.

You sink, just like the first time you kissed him. You sink into the feeling, moaning into the kiss, willing to accept it. Wanting to believe it’s real. That he really, really wants you. 

He moans back, spurring you on, and you buck your hips in response. That’s what snaps him out of it, enough for him to pull away.

“Shit! Sorry. That was--” It’s when he wipes his mouth with the back of your hand, wipes the taste of you from his mouth, that you realize this was just another way to appease you.

You cover your mouth with your hand, trying to control your breathing.

Even if it’s not real, even if it didn’t mean anything to him, he’s still panting. You savor those sounds, sounds that can’t be forged. 

He licks his lips, looking down, and that’s when he notices how much he’s affected you. He quickly looks away, face burning. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go that far! I was...I just thought...”

You glance down, and realize he’s been affected too. You can’t fake that kind of reaction either. Swallowing, wanting to reach out and touch him, but knowing you can’t, you rub your jaw instead, shocked how how sore it feels.

“Was that...that’s what you wanted, right?” He asks, unable to meet your eyes. He stands back up, trying to cover his lower half with the hem of his band jacket.

_ It’s not at all what you wanted. _

You can’t tell him that though. It would only upset him.

“Yeah...yeah. That’s what I wanted. Thank you.” The electricity is gone. Now you’re left with the scars from the lightning, the burning aftershocks. 

You keep trying to breath, keeping the stutter out of each inhale, and exhale.

_ This is really really bad. _

\---

It hits you, after tossing and turning all night, why he keep doing this.

You know he doesn’t love you. Not like that. Not in the way you want him too. 

But every time you start to get upset, or panic, it causes him to panic. And then he does something like that. Like kissing you, or touching you, or giving you compliments; he’s doing it because it placates you. 

He doesn’t want to upset you, or hurt you, so he does what he thinks will make you happy. Even if it’s not what he really wants, as long as it placates you, then it’s fine. 

Except it’s not. Because all it’s really doing is screwing with your head. He’s giving you hope; he’s making you believe in a future that’s not coming. 

You remember, once during lunch, he told you that he’s always been a bit of a pushover. When someone asks him to do something, he does it. When someone’s upset, he doesn’t want to be the reason, so he tries to fix it, tries to make amends, doing whatever that person wants til they’re satisfied.

  
  
You’ve never demanded him to do those things with you. Not with your words. Your actions, your involuntary body language has done all the talking for you. When you cry, when you get hurt, when you start falling apart, he’s scrambling to pick up the pieces. And he gives you what you want, because that’s his nature.

You have to stop this. You have to put an end to this parasitic relationship, before you both end up getting hurt. Before you do something you can’t take back.

If he keeps giving you what you want, he’s going to do something he’ll regret, and grow to resent you.

If he keeps giving you what you want, you’re going to fall-- you’re going to fall, and not be able to get back up again.

If he keeps giving you what you want...you’re not going to be able to let him go.

\---

You avoid him. 

You don’t answer his texts. You hide out in the library during lunch. When he finds your hideout, you move to the tennis courts to eat. At band rehearsal, you arrive around the same time as the teacher, so he can’t converse with you before practice. When the class is over, you’re the first to put away your stuff, bolting out the door before he can catch you. You avoid all the spots you used to meet up at, not wanting to bump into him by accident.

For a while, it’s doable. For a while, you’re able to keep your distance.

Until it’s not.

It’s not that he starts figuring out your strategy, though he’s certainly trying. The way he stares at you, all through practice, shows that he’s not quitting. The way he tries to run after you, lugging his bassoon case, even when he knows he can’t outrun you. His long legs can’t make up for years of experiencing running from Gravity Falls inhabitants.

That’s not the problem.

It’s the fact that you’re lonely. It’s the fact that you miss him.

Your chest starts to ache, when you see him, talking with Sara and Jason--who you’ve also been avoiding because they’re Wirt’s friends before they’re yours. Your face goes red, and your breathing shallows when you catch a glimpse of him, smiling, laughing; when he looks put together, and happy, and not worrying over you. It’s the fact that you miss his voice, his eyes on you, when his smile is directed your way. It’s the way he says your name, your real name, something you don’t let most people call you.

You miss him so much. He’s your best friend. And without him, you’re back to your first day of college; without any one to talk to. Your sister’s not here to support you; the one person who’s been with you forever is off, doing her own thing. And the ache of having someone, anyone, to spend time with is eating at you, little by little. 

You want that back. You want that companionship again. You want Wirt.

But you want more than just Wirt’s friendship. That’s the problem. You want all of him; you want him to want all of you. And that’s what makes it so hard. That’s why you’re avoiding him in the first place.

You can’t get attached. You have to distance yourself. You have to douse the fire burning inside you. You have to quell your rapid heartbeat. You have to let go.

You have to move on.

_ It hurts. It hurts. It hurts! Nononononono! _

_ IthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurtsIthurts--!!! _

This feeling is worse than any demon possession. Worse than anything Bill could have ever done to you.

  
  
At least with demons, there’s a way to exorcise them. You can’t exorcise these feelings. 

\---

You get dragged to the next party. You don’t want to go, but the football team, and the band are required to attend. It’s a celebration for the end of the season. It’s a celebration for the postseason, which starts after the break. So you go. 

The football field is packed with players, bandmates, their dates, and any other college attendants who bought a ticket. The field is decorated with fairy lights, hanging from the goal post, and balloons tied to the bleachers. Half the field is set up with tables and chairs, and a food stand for those wanting to sit and eat. The other half is the dance floor, a DJ playing poppy, top 40s.

You pour yourself a cup of punch, and wander the field, trying to look engaged. You take a sip, wishing it was spiked with alcohol.

Someone grabs your elbow, stopping you in your tracks. Their grip is firm, but not bruising, not trying to hurt you. You don’t need to look to know who it is. You down the rest of your punch, and turn to face the man you’ve been avoiding all week.

“...Hi,” he says, breathing heavily. Like he ran to catch you.

“...Hey…” You pull your elbow back. Seeing him right there in front of you, hearing his voice, addressing you specifically, your chest pangs with yearning. Even after all you’ve done to avoid him, to distance yourself, one word from his lips and you’re pining. He’s wearing a tux, looking every bit as dapper as you imagined he would be in a suit. It's hard to ignore.

“Dipper, can we talk?”

“So I’m Dipper now?” You bitterly laugh. The nickname, coming from his lips, hits you like a slap in the face.

“I’m not the one who’s been elusive. I’m not the one who’s been isolating themselves from their friends. Forgive me if I thought you didn’t want to see me. Forgive me if I thought that you were trying to severe the relationship,” His voice drips sarcasm; when his frustration is directed at you, it’s hard to remain nonchalant.

“Maybe I am.” You toss your cup in a nearby trash can.

That look of hurt is back. You try to remain unphased. He takes a step forward. “Why don’t you want to be friends anymore? Did I do something wrong?”

You grab a fistful of hair, laughing dryly at him. “Wirt! Do you really not get it? Do you really not understand why I don’t want to see you?”

“Because I don’t return your feelings? Yeah, Dipper, I’m aware of that. I just figured our friendship was stronger than that!”

“How can it be stronger than that, when you keep playing with my emotions!?”

“I’m not trying to play with your emotions--”

  
  
“Yes you are! You tell me you don’t want me! But you kiss me when you think that’s what I want, and when I’m the one who kisses you, you reciprocate it, even when you don’t really mean it. You tell me I’m handsome, and amazing, and strong; all these things I wanna hear, and yet you question why I’m so head over heels about you, like this all came out of nowhere? You just want to be friends; but you’re not setting boundaries. You’re blurring the lines between friendship and romance, letting me do whatever I want. You’re not being upfront with me, you’re not outright rejecting me--you’re giving me just enough false hope to keep me on the hook. How am I supposed to understand what you want, or what’s real and what’s fake, when you’re sending me mixed signals?”

“I just don’t want to lose you!” He snaps, pulling you closer.

You stop talking, his admission halting anything else you have to say.

“What do you mean...by that?”

He’s looking at you, determination in his eyes. “I...I don’t know. I don’t know what I want. I...I just...I know I've been miserable ever since you started avoiding me. I don’t like that. I don’t like not getting to see you. I’ve become comfortable with us. With our daily talks, with our weekend hangouts, with our study dates; it’s all become a part of my routine. I’ve become content with the way things are. I don’t know why it hurts so much...but having you disappear from my life...it’s like I’m missing something. Suddenly, everything feels out of balance, and there’s this bitter ache in my chest--this bitter regret. I don’t know why it’s upsetting me so much, I don’t know why I want to appease you so much. I don’t know why I’m so desperate to keep you happy.”

“Wirt…”

“I love you...Mason. I really do love you--”

Your heart leaps into your throat.

“--I’m just not in love with you.”

You swallow it. It drops like a stone to the pit of your stomach.

He squeezes your arms, babbling, “I wanted to though! I wanted to fall in love with you! I tried! I really, really tried to return your feelings. I thought! I thought maybe I could! I care about you so much, and I hate, hate upsetting you! I want to keep our friendship, I want to hold onto it so much, that I’m willing to do anything to preserve it. I know that sounds crazy, I know that it’s not healthy. I just. Fuck!”

You start. You’ve never heard him swear like that before.

“Fuck! I don’t know. I don’t know why I feel like this. Why I want you, but I don’t. I don’t want to lose you, but I can’t like you the way you want me to. I don’t want to hurt you, but I keep hurting you anyway. I know it’d be better to let you go, to turn away from this before we make it worse, but...I’m selfish. I’m really selfish. I want you in my life! I need you in my life! I...I’ve missed you so much. Mason, I don’t know what to do with you. I’m so sorry.”

He drops his arms. He clenches his hands, until his knuckles are chalk white. His eyes are misty, and he doesn’t try to hide it. A single tear slips out.

Now you’re the one in his space. You take your sleeve, and wipe his cheek. “Hey, hey. Shuuu, It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ve missed you too. It’s okay, I get it. What can I do? What can I do to help you?” You bargain. 

In some way, you’re just like him. You don’t want to hurt him. You love him too much to see him in pain.

But his is platonic. And yours in romantic. And as much as you want it to work out, the two sides are in constant disagreement, trying to take precedence over the other.

You’re both in so much pain. You’re hurting each other, and you can’t stop it.

_ It’s parasitic. _

He clutches you close, one arm wrapped around your waist. He looks at your face, trying to fall in love with you. You look at him, trying to be his best friend.

Neither of you are succeeding. 

“Stay with me,” he pleads.

“Stay with me,” you beseech.

You’re both aware that the meaning behind your words are entirely different.

\---

For the rest of the party, you act like good friends. Talking with the band mates about the postseason, keeping a comfortable distance. He makes a joke, and you laugh. When he playfully flirts with Sara, you manage to keep your jealousy in check. When things start to feel tense, you lean on Jason’s hip, and turn your attention to the nasally boy. It’s good to see him again; you’re happy to have the rest of your friends back. You play games and eat at the table, and then you all go out to the dance floor together.

You dance with your small group of friends, letting loose, and kicking back. You go from song to song, dancing like a bunch of idiots, not caring what anyone else thinks of you. It almost feels like dancing with your sister. You wish she was here; she would love this so much. As the night draws on, and the music starts to slow, you switch off in pairs, slow dancing with each other.

You and Jason are clumsy, and awkward, but you’re both laughing and smiling, enjoy the casual nature of your friendship. He gives you a sad, forlorn look, patting you on the back at the end of your dance. 

With Sara, you try a little harder not to step on her toes. You spin her, and dip her, and she smiles kindly, sympathetically, patting your cheek. She’s missed you too--honestly, she’s a lovely soul. You want to introduce her to Mabel; you’re sure the girls would get alone. When her dance ends, she pecks you on the cheek, and pushes you towards Wirt.

Now it’s his turn. 

He offers his hand, and you take it. He looks insecure. You give him an encouraging smile, playing the role you’ve resigned yourself to tonight. 

He pulls you close, and the two of you start to sway to the beat of the next song.

_ “Guess it’s true I’m not good at a one night stand, _

_ But I still need love, cause I’m just a man. _

_ These nights never seem to go to plan, _

_ I don’t want you to leave, will you hold my hand?” _

The lyrics twist into your gut like a dagger. 

Even as he holds you close, there’s tension in his shoulders. His hands just barely hover over your hips. Afraid to touch you.

You let him do as he pleases. _ Be good. Behave. Be there for him. Be his friend. _

You repeat the words like a mantra. You keep your fingers from curling in his suit. You keep your eyes over his shoulder, instead of on him. You take steadying breaths. You fighting the cloying need that’s building up. 

_ Be good. Behave. Be there for him. Be his friend. _

Over and over, you mouth the words. This is as close as you can get. Take it. Accept it. Enjoy what you’ve been allotted.

_ “Won’t you stay with me? _

_ Cause you’re all I need. _

_ This ain’t love, It’s clear to see, _

_ But darling, Stay with me!” _

You resist the temptation to nuzzle into his neck, keeping your chin from resting on his shoulder. You keep a space between the two of you, a comfortable distance that can’t be misconstrued. That can’t give way to anything more.

His fingertips brush your hips. For a moment, he holds you. But it only lasts a second. In the end, it’s too much, and he drops his hands back to his sides. 

You can’t tell what he’s thinking. He’s miles away from here. You accept it for what it is. You accept whatever he can give you. 

He’s already given you so much. _ Be good. Behave. Be there. Be his friend. _

Give him what you can. It’s the least you can do.

You two dance, until the song’s over. It’s awkward, it’s unbearable, but you play pretend. It’s just good fun, between good friends. You pull away, painting on your smile. 

“That was weird, huh?” You joke.

He’s looking at you funny. “I’m getting tired. Do you mind if we get out of here?”

You cock your head to the side, “Um, yeah. Sure? Let’s go.”

\---

He drops you back off at your apartment. 

You step inside, offering him a drink before he goes. He agrees, thanking you, before following you inside, closing the door behind him. You take a step in, and when you turn around to ask what he wants, he grabs you by the collar of your shirt, and slams his mouth against yours. 

He backs you up until the back of your knees are hitting the edge of your bed. He pushes you down onto the mattress, climbing on top of you, straddling your waist. He grabs the hem of your jacket and shirt, and in one fluid motion, pulls the whole thing over your head. He unbuttons his suit and flings it off, untucking his long sleeve out of his slacks.

You grab his face, and pull him down, hungrily recapturing his lips.

Now it’s his turn. Now he’s playing your games.

For the rest of the night, he’ll act like your lover.

\---

The worst part of it all, is that he’s gentle.

He’s too gentle. 

He doesn’t fuck you. He makes love to you.

He asks you, between every couple of thrust, if he’s doing okay. He lovingly brushes back your soaked bangs, pressing chaste kisses to your damp forehead; pressing scorching, desperate kisses along your birthmark. His fingers curl to find the right spots that make you scream, that make you mewl. That make you come undone.

He whispers sweet nothings in your ear, telling you everything you want to hear. He leaves love bites along your neck, at your request. He traces your skin with feather light touches, his lips teasing every sensitive, erogenous patch on your body.

“Like this? Just like this, Mason?” He whispers.

You arch your body against his, tears of ecstasy, of longing, rolling down your cheeks as you moan his name. He kisses your cheeks, taking your salty tears, leaving his sweet taste behind.

In the darkness, the only light coming from the moon, peeking through your curtains, you like to think that his eyes are full of desire. That they’re genuine. That he’s looking at you, and only you.

He kisses you like he really loves you. He tries really hard to kiss you like he loves you.

"I love you. I love you, Mason." He promises.

You cling to him, swallowing his lies. For one night, for tonight, just tonight; he'll play pretend. 

\---

You wake up, cold, the space beside you empty. The warmth from last night is gone, the body that you snuggled with is clearly absent. On your nightstand is a folded up note. You take it, unfolding it.

_ “Two ships, sailing the same river, _

_ But as the river diverges into two, _

_ The ships go their separate ways, _

_ Unable to find each other again. _

_ They float on, down the paths they chose, _

_ Two lonely souls, never to cross again, _

_ Missing when they were together, _

_ Down the same river.” _

_ I’m really sorry. I can’t. I thought that I could. _

You crumple the note. You take the necklace around your neck and yank it off. You chuck it across the room; it hits the wall and shatters. 

\---

You’ve missed 17 calls from your sister. The battery on your phone dies before the 18th call.

You draw the symbols on the floor of your apartment. Even after all these years you know them by heart.

When it’s finished, you light the candles, all seven. You stand in the middle of the circle, and recite the words that haunt your memories.

The air stills around you, and a cold draft wafts in, chilling your skin.

When you open your eyes, he’s there, staring at you. Even without a mouth, you know he’s smiling

He reaches out a gangly hand.

_You can exorcise demons. You can’t exorcise feelings._

_But you don’t have to exorcise feelings, if you don’t have them. _

**Author's Note:**

> Second Prompt. Just finished it tonight! Took me two nights. Currently the longest oneshot fic I've written for the month. 
> 
> Oh boy! I wanted to make a companion piece to basically "The Lights Flicker out." In the way that it's from Dipper's perspective, and he's the one suffering. It's not a sequel to the actual fic though. Obviously.
> 
> I mean they're both suffering. I kind of made this story a really sad story about codependency and This was really sad to write. Like, this legit hurt, cause I knew where it was going. And in the beginning I was considering making an alternative version of this fic with a happy ending. I don't know. What do you guys think? If you really like the beginning, maybe I'll make a story that involves a happy ending. 
> 
> As of now, this was partly inspired by Arkaena's drawing: https://arkaena.tumblr.com/post/175176630179/just-some-angsty-slow-dancing-after-some-events
> 
> And Sam Smith's "Stay With Me"


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